The Game
by Veersight
Summary: He sought something far more. Not quite power, not quite conquest, not the typical goals of those who climbed through the ranks of success. No, Khada Jhin sought a revolution.


**Here, have a small drabble with two intellectuals vying for control and generally nothing happening! I finally finished this after ten million years of procrastination and no time so have fun with it.**

* * *

There were few things the Deceiver could admit herself to say and naturally, there were little exceptions for such things.

He was one of those.

Khada Jhin was an investment, an instrument that orchestrated the same chords she strummed delicately with precise care; the silver linings of a playbook, and the lone wanderer in constant longing of his muse. Simply put, he was a man she could readily confess to finding fascination in, with every word and fluid movement unparalleled to even those of well-spoken poets and ruffled swans.

His initial search fascinated the mind, daringly seeking her name through the waters of the criminal underworld and only going forth to boldly forge an association with her organization.

Even now in her parlor with the sun lazily setting past the towering concrete of the Immortal Bastion, LeBlanc had hummed with satisfaction with the way the light reflected upon her companion's face. A visage that was no more of a masterpiece than the tales of the works he had created, features that so happened to appeal to her high-held palette. And then his voice, low and grainy with the faintest whisper of the danger his person held as he spoke with an eloquence and intelligence foreign in most men she met.

 _But he wasn't most men._

And she indulged in it all.

Their first encounter in an abandoned home located in the countryside of Ionia (by his invite nonetheless) only served to heighten her thirst to know more. They had met in eccentric places since then, from her teahouse in the most secluded area of Noxus, cafes and taverns in nameless towns, and eventually in one of the Black Rose's private housings. They had spoken of their grand views– each to their own– from everything between the blindness of the Ionian elders to Noxian ideals and philosophical musings, all of those and more which were shared between them like a captivating book.

It was in those sunset kissed afternoons LeBlanc could genuinely admit she had found true solace.

Her head leaning unto her hand, golden irises met his ever elusive set of eyes; one leg crossed over the other whilst swinging back and forth lazily beneath their table and daringly brushing her leg against his. How scandalous it all was, had it not been such a temptation for her ever seeking mind. Jhin would only lock their stare in place with a twinkle in his mesmerized gaze. She tapped her manicured nails unto the wood.

" **Would you care for more sugar, my dear?** " He would inquire, the intricate carvings of a enigmatic smile on his mask only serving to accentuate his allure. She would have found it charming, were she not one to taste the honeyed venom dripping from his lips– acidic and so sweetly promising for more. A simper lays across her features as LeBlanc taps her rosy cheek, fingers folded beneath her chin, porcelain features cradled gently.

" **I'm sweet enough as it is.** "

The Virtuoso let himself have the liberty of a half chuckle at her words- most likely out of pity for her half-hearted attempt at humor- though he continues to mix the sugar with the steaming liquid.

" **Delightful, as per usual Matron.** "

He sets aside the spoon he had used to stir his own tea, the tip still holding remnants of sugar crystals, prompting the Deceiver's interests as she leans forward more on their table, her aura radiating only the utmost confidence and nothing more.

Smooth brushes, still holding their paints lay on the table though common during their meetings. Jhin had reasoned that beauty could be found in even the most simplest of matters, even objects that have been used for his own works.

" **You never taught me to paint, even after all this time. Believe me, I've been patient**." LeBlanc suddenly muses, tracing an imaginary image on the surface of the table with her finger. It was a rose, atleast to her. Interest taints his gaze for the seventh time since he had arrived.

She smirks.

" **Oh? You never cease to surprise, one would think a woman like yourself would have already learned the finer arts**." He lifts his pearly mask enough to reveal his smooth lips and sips his tea for a moment. She hoped it scorched the skin. " **But alas, I do assume slightly, I'm certain _you_ of all individuals would know that everything comes at a price. It is only through sacrifice that we truly learn, yes?** " He tilts his head inquisitively at her.

LeBlanc flutters her eyes closed by the slightest, a soft hum leaving her " **Mm, indeed. But here we are with your hands upholding cards and seeking fortune with me despite your knowledge and your inhibitions. You disregard the words, the blurring line between the truths and the ...** " She had no need to finish the sentence, he would know it as well as she did. Jhin's fingers pinched the handle of his teacup tighter. The air around them closed in to the confines of their small space.

In the distance, the sun had finished its descent, leaving final strokes of amber across the canvas of the heavens and making way for twilight.

Jhin could only give another breathy chuckle " **Matron, must we be so brash?** " He took one of the brushes laid out across the table and slowly moved the hairs of the tool across the blank linen, leaving a mixed trail of fuschia and navy blue behind.

" **I like to gamble my chances at points, and you my dear are most certainly worth such a risk. Your organization intrigues me as is, your inner workings, the intricate planning of your plots. With fair trade of my talents, unless of course that in itself is not enough of a fair exchange for your standards?** "

At that, LeBlanc paused. The finger that drifted across the surface of their table coming to an abrupt stop. He had caught her there, locked between upholding her stoicism and the temptation Jhin so readily offered and wholeheartedly _knew_ wasn't up for denial. Those mismatched orbs peeking through his mask eyed her in anticipation, eager to see her stumble at his offer just as LeBlanc had wanted to him to be.

 _So shall the cat begin the chase for the mouse._

A pensive hum, leaves her as the Matron splays her fingers out across the table, fine nails nearing the porcelain saucer of her teacup. She readily ignores his previous words " **Now, now, with relations as they are between Noxus and Ionia?"** LeBlanc takes a moment to chuckle " **You speak in delusions of grandeur.** " She waved her free hand dismissively, sipping her cooled down tea; ever watching, ever calculated. Jhin visibly bristled, shoulders uplifting by the slightest and the fine trail of his brush swaying out of it's artistic haze.

" **They are a far cry from delusions, Matron!** " He proclaimed suddenly, throwing his arm out towards her in a burst of impulse. The brush was clasped within the clutch of his fingers, never leaving his grasp for even a moment as he continued his passionate outcry " **City state relations mean nothing when we are our own catalysts for _change._** " His gestures flicked splatters of mixed fuschia and navy unto the porcelain of her cup, now a soft lavender tainting it's surface.

LeBlanc merely continued to listen.

" **There are visions to be wrought upon, multiple performances left to revel in! We can make all of them** _ **sing.** " _Upon his last words, Jhin closed his augmented hand into a fist all the while traces of a triumphant smile shone from beyond his ornate mask. The Virtuoso nearly radiated with his pride and LeBlanc chuckled, lazily drawing circles on the table with the tip of her finger.

A soft sigh accompanies the subtle ring of her amusement at his tirade.

" **Mm, if only I was impressed.** " She stands up silkily from the metal seat , lithe fingers smoothing out the creases of her well adored cloak. The mirror shatters, Jhin's previous stagelight dims as quickly as it had. He sits as still as she had moments before.

"What your performances are composed of can be summarized simply as puerile, mere blindness that sparks in a single moment before being forgotten- insignificant, impractical." LeBlanc continues, turning to what little was left of the sun that shone through the glass walls, a multicolored shadow painting itself unto the floor of her teahouse like a child's watercolor palette.

" **You claim yourself a virtuoso, an _artist_. A tragedy that you can't paint the bigger picture** "

And with a singular flick of her hand, violet smoke engulfed the Deceiver's being, soft clouds entangling around her body and leaving no trace of her existence behind.


End file.
